The Legion
by KMSaum
Summary: Attacks, disappearances, kidnappings...When the most powerful people in the world come up missing, who is left to stop an evil everyone thought was destroyed?


Hello and welcome to my FF8 fanfic (the first, incredibly), "The Legion." There is unrest among an underground legion of warriors, known to themselves as "The Sorceress's Legion." Their job was to support the Sorceress and, by default, her knight. It's been two years since the Second Sorceress War, and the globe is currently at peace. This strange group is not as happy with the new peace as everyone else, and they're going to do their best to reinstate their own regime...

**The Legion**

* * *

Squall Leonhart shut off his com-link, massaging his scar as he propped his elbows on his desk. The massive table was covered entirely by stacks of paper: contracts, proposals and various other documents that were in apparent need of his attention. He never managed to get those piles to diminish—truthfully, they grew daily.

A slight knock on his office door shook Squall from his reverie and he muttered a quiet, "Come in." He was in no mood for visitors after the phone call he'd just received. The thin, pretty girl in blue that entered, however, caught him by surprise.

"That was an awfully long phone call—for you, anyway," Rinoa Heartilly smiled, her hands folded neatly behind her back and her head cocked comically to one side. Squall sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It was Laguna. He…" it was _so_ hard to say, "…he wants me to come visit him in Esthar."

"Aw," the girl cooed, flopping down on the chair opposite her boyfriend and leaning onto one of his monstrous stacks of documents. "You should go—he's just trying to be nice."

"It gets worse," Squall murmured, ignoring her statement. "He wants me to teach him how to wield a gunblade."

"Awwwww!" Rinoa was absolutely alight now, her brown eyes sparkling. "That's so _cute!_ You have to go. You need the vacation, anyway."

"I can't believe you actually think I'd consider it." He looked up, tempest-colored eyes perturbed. "I have too much work to do here, as you can see. Besides, beginning with a gunblade at his age?" he muttered, sounding every bit the grouchy, retired swordsman that he didn't have the arthritis to be yet. "It takes months just to learn the proper grip!" Now it was Rinoa's turn to look perturbed; her porcelain brow furrowed and she frowned thoughtfully at Squall.

"Be nice—you'll hurt his feelings if you don't go. He's just trying to make up for lost time."

"Lost time is just that: lost. Besides, he didn't worry about it during the last nineteen years of my life…"

"Squall! You _know _how hard it's been reconstructing everything! He's been as busy as you have! He tried calling you before--"

"…I'm not doing it, Rinoa." They sat in palpable silence for several moments.

Then…

"That's it—you're going!" She leapt up from her chair and stormed around to the other side of his desk, pushing him out of the way and smashing the button on his com-link. "Xu, call Quistis and tell her she's going to need to fill in for Squall for a while. He's going on a vacation."

"What? Seriously?" the girl's face on the monitor lit. "Awesome! We keep telling him he needs to go. Quistis will be thrilled. I'll call her now…"

"Thanks Xu," Rinoa shut down the connection, turning on Squall with a satisfied look on her face. The young man was frowning, looking much more intimidating than she had when doing the same. A little voice in the back of Rinoa's mind quailed: there was true anger gathering, lurking just beneath the depths in those storm gray eyes.

"Rinoa, there is _no way_ I am going to Esthar. Look at this desk! I have too much that I need to get done—"

"…doesn't matter."

"—and Xu should _not_ be taking orders from you, you're not even a SeeD." He massaged his scar absently, feeling a massive headache in the works. He had become rather familiar with migraine symptoms as of late.

"So is your work more important than your family?" Rinoa asked him quietly, smile fading. Seeing he was about to deny Laguna's position as 'family,' she continued, "I hardly ever get to see you anymore, Squall—you're always cooped up in here, drowning in these papers. You train about half of what you used to, and you _never_ go out on field missions. Have you forgotten how much fun we used to have?"

"The Commander has responsibilities to fulfill for the Garden—"

"—and to his friends. Though you insist on it, no one except you expects you to live in this office. Not Cid, not Xu, not your friends or the SeeDs, and especially not me. I would like to spend some time with you, now and again." She tilted her head to the other side and looked up into his tired eyes. "The stress isn't good for you either. You're aging yourself way too quickly." Squall folded his arms across his chest but the girl, keeping her returning smile compressed, could tell that he was weakening. The monstrous anger—anger contained for many years, anger directly related to the man she was insisting he visit—was replaced with work-related agitation at the vacation time he couldn't afford to take.

"What has any of this to do with my visiting Laguna?"

"Maybe if you take one vacation and decide you like it, you'll join the rest of us back in the real world more often. You're more reclusive than a hermit, Leonhart," she added, imitating Irvine's drawl to the best of her ability. That almost jerked a smile from him.

Almost.

Squall sighed, head drooping. "Fine. It's a waste of time, though—I refuse to talk to that man, and I do _not_ see the point in trying to teach him to wield a gunblade. He's clumsier than Zell when he hasn't eaten and has a shorter attention span than Selphie after a coffee break." It was as close as she'd ever heard him get to humor, and proved to her that he was at least making an effort. It was an effort that earned him a gentle slap to the back of the head as the two of them exited the office, Rinoa stating faux-angrily:

"Squall Leonhart, you're so _mean!!!_" She spun on a heel and darted off down the hall. The Commander, grumbling half-heartedly, took up the pursuit.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Three days later the Ragnarok was hovering just outside of Esthar's border, carrying one very unhappy occupant.

"Mr. Leonhart, you are cleared for entrance. You have a thirty second window to enter the city. Please proceed to the docks adjacent to the Presidential Mansion. Thank you, and enjoy your stay." The voice was semi-mechanical and female, her sentences simple. Routine made her words and tone expressionless. Squall radioed back with a "Clear" no more emotional than hers and sat back, retaking the controls.

_How did I get myself into this?_ he grumbled mentally, and the Squall Leonhart of old was more prominent than he had been in a long while. He remembered Rinoa and sighed, turning the Ragnarok towards the landing docks.

He was standing there as the Ragnarok's cabin depressurized and the stair ramp swung down. As Squall hesitated at the threshold, Laguna was once again struck by a twinge of emotion that he didn't fully understand.

That man, that warrior—that _legend—_was his son. _His_ son. No one, not even Doc Odine himself, with all his scientific facts and figures, could explain to him how it was possible.

Kiros would have said he wasn't giving himself enough credit. Laguna himself thought claiming Squall as his blood was giving himself too much. He knew so little about the stoic youth now descending the ramp; as Squall got to the ground and made eye contact, Laguna _saw_ the gates slam closed behind those storm-gray eyes, those eyes so like his mother's.

_This is not going to be easy,_ the President realized, and cleared his throat anxiously. Squall reached him, face carefully blank, holding a duffle bag and the Lionheart unsheathed. Laguna extended a hand; Squall walked past, saying flatly over his shoulder,

"…Spare me the pleasantries, Laguna." He walked on towards the mansion. Laguna chuckled sadly to himself.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," and followed after his son.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Seifer Almasy was bored—_really _bored—and was kicked back on a park bench just outside the city of Balamb. He was staring at the water, a favorite pastime of his; Raijin and Fujin were off somewhere, he didn't remember where. The Hyperion was slung lazily across his lap, sunlight glinting off its silver blade.

"What a pathetic sight you are," a deep voice said suddenly from behind him. A smirk fanned across Almasy's face.

"Take a hike, punk—it's my day off."

"You have had too many days off recently," the voice responded. Seifer sat up, swinging his gunblade up on unto his shoulder. Turning, he faced not one 'punk,' but five full grown, well-armed soldiers. Two had guns, two had broadswords, and the man in front—an enormous redhead—held a gunblade loosely at his side. Disquieted—and absolutely not the kind to show it—he looked to the man in front and demanded:

"'The hell do you want?" The redhead—who stood even taller than Seifer himself—smiled a snake's smile.

"To see if these 'days off' have ruined you, you that once called yourself the Sorceress's Knight." Seifer scowled at that.

"Who are you?" The redheaded man just smiled, inclining his head slightly.

Then he charged.

Lunging forward with surprising speed, he made an overhead swing in Seifer's direction that cleaved the park bench neatly in half. Stepping over the rubble, grinning all the while, he advanced on Almasy, asking finally:

"Fight me! Or have you gone completely soft?" With a roar, he charged; with no hesitation, Seifer met his attach inch for inch, blocking and knocking the man away. He recovered, lunging in low, and again was parried, taking a kick to the side for his troubles. Seifer circled away from the bench and re-engaged, slicing hard and fast in a butterfly complex move, knocking the unknown soldier back several steps. The man rebounded, hacking viciously, but Almasy met every attack with one of his own. The man was good, quite good, but he had nothing on Seifer.

Falling back, still smiling, the redhead motioned for the two swordsmen to join in. Moving to Seifer's left and right, they charged in unison. The one on the right reached Seifer first; he ducked, avoiding the swordsman's swing, and slammed the butt of Hyperion into the man's gut. The man wretched forward; sliding smoothly to the side, Seifer boosted him over his shoulder and straight into his comrade's downswing.

The left attacker shouted, reeling to avoid slicing open his partner, and actually managed to vault over him, executing a mid-air dodge that impressed his target. Seifer blocked, knocked back by the force of the blow—and fell forward as the redhead, gone from sight as he'd repelled the swordsmen, struck him from behind. Rolling as he hit the ground hard, sparks stung Seifer's eyes and hands as the two gunblades met. He blocked two…three…four direct blows before the redhead receded far enough for him to lurch to his feet.

"Yes…you'll do," the large man said quietly. "You'll do quite well. Malas, Arten." The two men with guns stepped forward; Seifer, scowling, backed away, gunblade still raised. 'Take him."

"Like hell they will," he snapped; the redhead smiled, his free hand glittering with unreleased magic.

"Now, now, that's no way to be," he released the Sleep spell, which hit Almasy full in the back. As he sunk to the ground, his vision going black, he heard the redhead add, "You've already shown us what we needed to see."

* * *

_So, is anyone out there? This is an old idea I had, recently rekindled in my three days of videogame nostalgia. I truly LOVE FF8, and I have interesting plans for this one. Anyone interested? Please R&R! Thanks for reading!!_

_-K-_


End file.
